Le Roi Est Mort, Vive Le Roi
by 26Bentley
Summary: Because I have an interesting mind. And - 'romance' is so NOT the right genre. But there was no category for 'hate/desire'. SLASH. DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. Also incestuous thoughts.


He circled me. Slowly. I felt myself drawn to him.

It was a combination of many things – the sinewy, underfed elegance of the way he moved, all bone and muscle. The thick and heavy black mane which I had always admired, at first only because he stood out and I had wanted to be like him some day, and later with different eyes.

Yes, eyes. Even in the flickering semi-darkness, his shone brightly, as they always had. And the healed cut, the slight blemish which had earned him many a nickname, until one of them finally stuck. Those eyes could trap me; render me powerless as a mouse beneath heavy hunter's paws. The crooked grin and regal bearing was entrancing, the deep velvety voice even more so.

From this vantage point the tumble from the cliff seemed almost worth it. Base desire was such a powerful thing, and this one – my elder, yes, I could see him going grey – this one had always stirred my desires. Much more than the sweet, caring love I felt for my intended could ever do.

She was a thing to be cherished, whereas having him – or letting him have you – was something that would have to be survived before one could think of describing it. I didn't mind pain. And I wanted so to have him once.

But it was not to be, was it.

Everything was ruined because of him. The land, the civilized order which Father built up. My friends, my family.

I growled in anger, frustration and sheer pent-up lust. His luminous eyes narrowed as they raked over me, his trademark sardonic smirk spread across his features. Even as we talked, I almost devoured him with my eyes. All through the first meaningless words which we both knew were only a prelude to the deciding fight. I would have done nearly everything for him – until he blinded me. Until he pounced.

I was furious. Of course I knew he had no scruples about underhanded tricks and manipulations of the worst degree. And yet, when he pounced – when, through my blurred vision, I saw the fierce look in his eyes, heard the growl deep in his throat; when our bodies collided in a warm, heavy tangle of frantic limbs and snapping teeth – the desire came back through the bright fire of hate.

And from the glint in his eyes, he knew. Ah, but of course he knew, he'd always known. He'd known how much I liked any physical contact he would allow, whether it be ruffling of my hair or me leaning on him, sometimes brazenly lying on him, burying my face in his mane if I felt daring, trying to coax another sharp smile from his icy depths. And he'd known how much his rejection had hurt me, the cold look in his eyes as he sent me away. _Run._

And now, as we rolled over from momentum, as I caught another flash of leaf-green eyes – I could allow myself a smirk at last.

He wanted me too. And perhaps he always had. It gave me the strength I needed to fend off his _coup de grâce_, his final blow.

A little too much strength.

He was thrown headfirst into thin air as I watched, the wild fear in his eyes visible in a flash before he tumbled down into the burning inferno below. Morbid curiosity made me get to my feet and watch as his sleek, powerful body was pounded mercilessly against stones and outcrops on the way down.

Something slightly different kept me rooted to the spot as he landed limply, bruised and broken, on the ground, all dignity gone, his mesmerizing eyes closed, maybe for good.

I was so intent on studying him that I hardly registered the movement as he clambered slowly to his feet, sore and limping, but amazingly – alive. The thought did not bother me.

What did, was the flames coming closer and closer to where he huddled at the foot of the cliff.

Maybe he could change, maybe if I managed to get him to safety – and then I heard it.

The sound of movement, of hushed voices, scornful titters, sometimes tinny laughter. I snapped to attention, my eyes wildly scanning the ground, every instinct telling me that this was not good at all. And when they crept out of the shadows, I took one look at their eyes, and I knew.

I turned away. Faintly I heard his familiar voice, pleading with them, trying to talk with them – but he was injured, scared, and all his eloquence and languid authority had left him. He was not supposed to sound like this. I tuned them out. But even though I turned my back, and moved as far away from the edge as possible; even with the dull roar and sharp crackle of the flames, I could not block out the screaming.


End file.
